Ben Tucker's legacy: Boost the harmony

LEAVE IT to Gloria Tucker to set the tone for her late husband's remarkable funeral service Monday. She chose a multi-colored dress that was vibrant and soulful.

It was the perfect fashion choice for an up-tempo send-off that was as much about a legacy as it was about a well-lived life.

Family members, friends and well-wishers packed the upper and lower churches of Evangelical Lutheran Church of the Ascension late Monday morning to say farewell to Ben Tucker, the 82-year-old jazz icon, civic activist and former radio broadcaster who was killed last Tuesday in an accident on Hutchinson Island.

The two-and-half-hour service attracted a crowd that was a genuine cross-section of this community - black and white, rich and poor, young and old, the musically inclined and the tin-eared. It was the sort of tribute seldom, if ever, seen here.

And it was totally deserved.

But this sign of respect and appreciation wasn't the most memorable or significant takeaway. That came when the crowd spilled out of the air-conditioned church and into a muggy, steamy Bull Street at Wright Square. It followed a jazz band playing "When the Saints Go Marching In" and the hearse carrying Mr. Tucker's flag-draped casket in a street procession to Ellis Square - a jazz funeral in its truest form.

It was united. It was full of positive energy. It was filled with a common purpose.

It was a fleeing glimpse of what this diverse community can become - if it chooses.

"Ben Tucker brought people together in life and in death," the Rev. Carl R. Yost, the Church of the Ascension's pastor, told the assemblage during his sermon.

Yost said his parishioner (whom he called "the coolest Lutheran in the country,") used his talents to bring people together, to find a way to get things done and to improve life. He also made reference to Jesus Christ and the commitment to charity, compassion and sacrifice. "Jesus Christ isn't a name," the pastor said. "It's a verb."

In many ways, Ben Tucker was a verb, too.

Ten speakers - family members, close friends, government officials, his personal physician - gave many of the reasons why Tucker meant action, even when it meant turning the other cheek.

One of the most memorable eulogies came from Wayne Tucker, Mr. Tucker's son. He said that after his father purchased WSOK-AM radio here in 1972, many white employees at the station walked out. "All the important staff left," he said. "They didn't want to work for a black man."

Except these quitters didn't say black man. "You can put in the N-word," he said.

Mr. Tucker's son, who was 14 years old at the time and had just moved to the Deep South from New York, was understandably upset. He thought his father should "go back and give them the business." He didn't.

"He said, 'No son, that's not my problem. That's their problem' ... My father never had hate in his heart. He was the kind of person that if you went up and spat in his face, then you later went up and asked him for help, then he would find a way to help."

Savannah Mayor Edna Jackson lauded Mr. Tucker for using WSOK radio for "courageous and positive" programming during the years he owned this station. Many who remember that era would agree with her.

"He was Savannah's ambassador who loved this city," she added. All who remember what Mr. Tucker did for the community during his 40-plus years here would agree with that, too.

Mr. Tucker was a native of Brentwood, Tenn. He lived on the West Coast and in New York before making Savannah his home. Rob Gibson, executive and artistic director of the Savannah Music Festival, made an excellent point about people like the Tuckers who made Savannah their adopted hometown: "You don't need to be from Savannah to be a Savannahian."

Translation? Everyone counts. Everyone has something to contribute to make this a better community.

Miriam Center, who used to own her own real estate company, was tapped by the Tuckers to find a home in Savannah, where the housing patterns were largely segregated. She said found them a house on Jones Street, in the overwhelmingly white Historic District.

"Savannah hasn't been the same since," she told the crowd. "It's better."

Indeed it is. And it can continue to improve, if more people can drive hatred from their hearts, work for the common good and approach life as a verb.

Like Ben Tucker did.

Savannah still needs to improve it's harmony. But if this jazz man's life can inspire other Savannahians - natives and transplants - to be more united, it would be a fitting legacy. And his finest masterpiece.